21st Century Poetry

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How to Be Deposed – by Elya Braden

Apply two coats of waterproof mascara.Floss until it steadies your hands. Sit down while you sheath your winter legsin ultra-sheer pantyhose, Nude #2. Rememberthe time before your ninth deposition, teetering in your hallway in a twistedtree pose, you wrenched your back,flailing like a netted trout. Do not bat your eyelashes at your lover,I mean, lawyer, until you two are alonein a taxi fleeing the scene.Don’t shriek when plaintiff’s counselaccuses you of sleeping with the defendant. Try to forget that co-counsel’s son carpoolswith your daughter. Count the linesin the wood grain of theconference room table. Humin your head to the rat-a-tat of the stenographer’s flying fingers. Breathe. Wait for your lawyer’s objection. Later, when he asks: Was it true?don’t slap him. Don’t place a straight razornear your bubble bath. Leave your pearl-handled revolver at home, tucked under your monogrammed hankies. Remember you don’t have a revolver… or hankies. Remember all the dimes you earned ironing your father’s hankies.Try to forget his shadow in your doorway.Try to forget his hand over your mouth.Try to forget the sticky touch of your brother’sbeanbag chair on your bare thighs, your brother’s threat: I’ll tell everyone what you did.Try to forget his needling question:Does it feel good when I touch you here?

Elya Braden, a former corporate lawyer and entrepreneur, is now a writer and collage artist living in Los Angeles where she leads workshops for writers. Her work has appeared in Causeway Lit, Forge, Linden Avenue, poemmemoirstory, Serving House Journal, Willow Review and elsewhere. You can find her online atwww.elyabraden.com.